This reminds me, sniff sniff, of my old dog Whitey from back in the early 50's. Momma thought we just couldn't live if we didn't have checkens on the yard. But then she'd fuss if any chicken droppings happened to make their way into the house. Daddy tried to tell her that it was cheaper to buy eggs and already dressed chickens than to raise our own but she wouldn't listen.
Well, dady got me a big white dog for a pet and hunting. The dog started killing chickens. He'd catch one, sling it around 'til dead and just throw it down. Momma was having fits, wanted daddy to kill my dog or haul him off somewhere. Daddy would claim he was just to busy right now to do anything about the dog. When my old dog finally killed the last chicken and threw him down, daddy grabbed my dog and threw him in the trunk of the car. No, he probably didn't throw him out on someone else, he probably shot him and then threw him somewhere. Daddy didn't care much for dogs or chickens and my dog had served his purpose. He had gotten rid of the chickens and then it was time for him to go too. The old man wasn't dumb, he just knew how to get his way around mom.
At least I didn't lose a dog when he decided we didn't need the milk cows anymore.